Hindsight
by Capponi
Summary: Dr Lecter aquires a cell mate with no explaination. What is he to make of her past and she of his.Will cohabitation work? Chapter Eighy finally up..a little inmate bonding
1. Chapter One

Disclaimer: I own nought but my OC -so just you try and sue me now!

The floor beneath my trainers was hard and smooth- slightly gritty. Old concrete I guessed, as I was lead down a corridor of some sort. I could sense openings on one side as I passed. Smells and sounds painted the layout in my mind compensating for my ruined eyes.

Both my elbows were held tight by an orderly on either side leaving me feeling slightly off balance and panicky. I could sense their repulsion and fear towards me- I was used to it by now and it didn't hurt as it once had.

I was halted suddenly and stumbled but my escorts were holding me too tight for it to topple me. The fresh, bitter smell of charcoal and fresh linen reached me as I faced in the direction where I sensed the opening. Welcome scents after the short walk down to this point. However, I could not smell any trace of the occupant, although I knew there was one- I could sense their heat but I couldn't pick up his individual bouquet. It threw me a little. I didn't know even the slightest thing about them and that worried me. Usually the scents attached to a person denoted habits and hints at build and appearance.

I felt one elbow released as the left orderly left and moved forwards and away a little. The other elbow was held harder.

"Dontcha' try and scarper, kid. We got enough tranquillisers to down a hippo." He called; wafting me with the hot breath smell of bitter coffee that repulsed me.

I felt something move directly in front of me. The smell of linen and charcoal became much stronger. The orderly lumbered around the room in front and kicked something metal, which scraped over the stone floor with a hair-raising screech. Papers fluttering to the floor and a pencil hitting the floor. A scorning laugh.

"How many shots ya give this sonnabitch, Buck?" came coffee breaths voice.

The orderly holding me chuckled darkly.

"Enough to give our young friend here a last hour or so."

More laughter. The orderly holding me sounded like a bunged up pig.

The sweet tang of fear reached my nose. Whose fear? I was coming from within the cell. Coffee breaths? Why was he afraid of a sedated inmate? What the hell kind of person was she being put with?

I felt him return as the smell grew stronger and he seized my other elbow and threw me forwards into the cell. If there is one thing every blind person has in common is the fear of being shoved or thrown. Without sight- the first and foremost sense- a huge chunk of balance and orientation is gone.

It took me a while therefore to work out my surroundings as the door slammed behind me. Coffee behind me, heat to the left- quiet breathing. So I was still facing into the cell, it's occupant on my left.

I sensed the orderlies watching from behind. I would not show fear. That's the least I could do. I turned and raised my ruined eyes.

"Thank-you gentlemen." I said softly and civilly.

"Fucking freaks- the pair of them. Hope they finish each other off."

Dark mutterings receded until I was only hearing breathing. So this was how it all ended? To be caged with a madman..woman? What were they anyway? I could detect no scent even this close.

I turned in their direction and followed the warmth until the rails of a bed hit my knees. Kneeling next to the sound of breathing I extended a tentative hand- fingers outstretched and moved it forwards. My index fingertip came in contact with the soft tip of a nose. Fluttering the other sensitive fingertips I explored a soft cheek and cool lips, painting a basic portrait in my mind. Hooking my fingers gently under the jaw I traced it to the chin. Male definitely. The form shifts slightly beneath my fingertips and I retract them quickly jumping back instinctively.

I stay tensed to flee but the form settles again. Slowly I back away until my back comes into contact with netting- left a little. I reach the stone wall and curl up against it- far from the man. Resting my head awkwardly against the harsh twine I try and sleep, ignoring the constant screams of torment as I have trained myself to do before.


	2. Chapter Two

Hindsight -Chapter Two

Hannibal Lecter observed the young woman from his cot. Young woman? More of a child- far too young for this cess pit. He wondered why Chilton had put her into his cell when there was an empty cell just down the hall- he could sense it's lack of occupant by the gap in scents. This was surely a breech on the rules regarding different sex sharing in the minimum security but to have two occupants sharing in the maximum security ward was definitely against the rules. What did Chilton expect him to do? Harm her? Surely Chilton didn't think he would grow fond of her and use her as another thing to take away for punishment- it was clear to any half-baked psyche student that he was not emotionally dependant on others.

He could sense she was blind by her tentative body language, always alert even as she slept she had her hands spread on the floor to sense any movement towards her. Skitterish thing, he thought. If she gave him a god reason it would be great entertainment to break her mentally...or would she be better to befriend? You're on the scales of fate little one- build or break, build or break?

The rough sting of the net leaving the rivets it had formed in my face during my sleep brought me quickly to my new surroundings. The floor smelt cold and metallic so there must be no windows and the smell of charcoal was stronger but apart from that it was as I remembered it. I felt his eyes on me turned to face out into the corridor as if I was looking at something. I didn't want some psychopath knowing I was blind, the ultimate weakness.

"Good Morning." His voice was soft, almost pleasant. I was shocked at how articulate he was. He sounded cultured and...well, normal although I hated that generalisation. I didn't trust him- so many people I had judged wrong and paid dearly for my wrongly placed trust.

I offered him a jerky nod and turned back to the netting- I didn't trust my voice at the moment. I feared it would sound weak. I was sick of people overpowering me because they saw my blindness as a weakness.

"No reply?" He sounded sharper now, irritated. I hoped he didn't perceive my fear for rudeness. I hated rude, boisterous people. I had enough of that kind, as I seemed to attract them like flies to honey when I was living normally. But what did I say?

"I am sorry, I don't mean to be rude but I'm just...I...I'm... I assure you I don't know why I'm here. I didn't request it."

God, that sounded weak and desperate and foolish. There was a silence.

"I did not think you were here by choice. Who would be? What were you going to say?"

I turned in the direction of his voice.

"Excuse me?"

"You started saying why you seemed rude but never explained. I'm intrigued."

I look down, furious at myself for starting such a line of conversation.

"Nothing. I wasn't going to say anything."

"I didn't take you as a liar."

I didn't reply. He moved closer. I could sense a shift in the still air of the cell and his scent teased my nose for the first time.

"I believe I asked you a question." He sounded more menacing now than ever but always he had a tone of courtesy in his voice that masked it.

"I believe I answered it."

"No. You lied. What do you feel right now? Why do you stink of fear? Do you fear me?"

"I do not fear you." I spat. "You have given me no reason too. I'm afraid you will...see me as weak. People who saw me as weak always used me, took advantage of me and I am sick of it all. I..."

I had said far too much. God that man could wheedle things well. I would have to be more reserved in future.

"See you as weak due to your blindness?" I nodded. "Thank-you .I do not see you as weak. May I ask your name?"

"You can ask."

"You really don't make this easy, do you?"

I turned away again.

"Please leave me alone." I tried to sound commanding but the words came out weak, a catch on the last word.

Thank-you for reading! What d'ya think? It's a little slow but I kinda need to plan this story out properly and wanted to put the first dialogue in. Need constructive criticism on any flaw. Thank-you again to all those who reviewed last chapter-personal replies at start of next chapter to all reviewers. CAPPONI


	3. Chapter Three

Hindsight Chapter Three (Revised)

Openings

Disclaimer: Thomas Harris owns all characters except my OC and certain themes have been lifted from John Steinbeck's inspiring 'Of Mice and Men'.

Barney watched Dr. Chilton from a distance, carefully masking his distaste for the smaller, oily man. At the present moment, he was leaning so close to the flickering monitor that his nose was reflected on the black and white screen, bulbous and oddly curved. On the monitor the familiar cell looked lighter in the monotone of greys, blacks and whites. Sat at his desk, Dr Lecter was sketching in quick smooth strokes and huddled in the corner, between the wall and the netting was the quiet young woman who had arrived yesterday, Barney's day off. He had a sneaking suspicion this had been planned to avoid any resistance and had he been there Barney certainty would have kicked off. To force co-habitation between these two inmates was not only cruel, as Barney knew how much the doctor abhorred his cramped conditions as it was, but dangerous for both parties and doubled the complexity of cleaning, both the doctor and young woman ordered into full restraints when outside the cell. Now she was here however, it would loose Barney his income and job if he did anything to separate them. The little of her background he was told for safety's sake made him wonder what went so wrong in her short years and he could appreciate why she looked to uncomfortable being in such a n enclosed space with a stranger.

"God Dammit!" Chilton suddenly exploded, slamming the side of the screen in frustration.

"Why aren't they doing anything? They're goddamn killers for Gods sake!"

Barney looked down on the angry, mottled face of his boss.

"I'm not sure they know they are guinea pigs for your obscure experiments. Is an article in a medical journal really worth.."

Chilton glared furiously at the big, black man. "If I wanted your opinion, orderly, I will ask you." He snapped, irritably.

Glaring at the screen for another moment he snarled and turned on his heel.

"If anything changes, you call me immediately, understand?" And with that he swept out, stomping back ton his office.

Barney looked after him with an expression of contempt then looked to the monitor and the two figures on display. With a jolt he realised they had moved. Looking to where Dr Chilton had just disappeared, he considered then declined the notion to call him. On the monitor, the young woman was now sitting opposite Dr Lecter and Barney watched as he looked up from his sketch and sat back in his chair slightly. Curious and nervous, Barney watched as the girl's lips moved as she leaned forward slightly, ready to intervene if it got nasty.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" A soft voice broke into Dr Lecter mind, which had been away in the snaking corridors of his memory palace.

Looking up, he saw the young woman standing in front of him, fingertips resting on the back of the chair opposite his own, eyes focused on the back wall, unseeing yet open.

"Do what you like, Dr. Chilton has decided it's as much your cell now as mine." His voice was cold and emotionless.

He watched her as she stayed exactly still, seemingly unperturbed by his stand-offish manner then she turned and, fingertips outstretched like a moths antenna, sat back in her corner but facing him.

"I assure you I gain no pleasure from being here." Her voice was calm yet bitter.

"That is not my concern" He replied shortly, idly shading a part of his elaborate sketch.

Minutes passed in silence and he watched her, waiting. He could smell her bitter anger and saw her getting increasingly agitated and awkward under scrutiny she must feel. Slipping her hand in her pocket, she pulled something form it and held it tight in her left palm, thumb stroking jerkily.

Silently moving closer to her, he knelt about four feet away, watching. Her head snapped up and nostrils flared slightly, locating him and his closer proximity.

"What have you got in your hand?" He asked slowly.

Locking her fist closer to her body she turned to face out onto the corridor, still stroking something in her closed fist.

"What have you got in your hand?" More menacing now, demanding a reply.

As she turned her head towards him, he could smell anger again on her, so strong it seemed to taint the air between them. Her face was impassive now.

"Nothing of interest." Short and elusive, irritating the doctor.

Reaching forward, breaching her personal space to no end, he grabbed her wrist in a fierce grip and twisted her round to face him. She went limp in his grasp, face fathomless.

"Open your hand." He said softly.

Her fingers unclasped and the limp form of a dead mouse fell to the stone floor with a soft thud.

He looked at it levelly then turned his gaze back to her.

"Where did you get this?"

"When I was waiting at the top of this corridor for them to sedate you." Her voice was cool, her stance aloof.

"You brought a dead mouse with you."

She reached to the floor and felt for the mouse but he covered it with his own hand.

"Give it back" she hissed, anger welling up, stiffening her stance.

"Of course" She could hear the malicious humour in his voice but refused to let him rile her.

She felt his hand move and reached for the mouse but it wasn't there. She heard him stood and just as she was about to follow the warm body of her mouse fell back into her lap from where he was standing.

Authors Note: I realise this is a little confusing at the moment but all will become clear in the following chapters. Thank-you to everyone who has reviewed so far, your comments are really helpful! 3 you all!

CAPPONI


	4. Chapter Four

Hindsight Chapter Four

A huge thank you to all who reviewed my original and revised Chapter Three..I wouldn't be sitting here writing if it wasn't for you guys!

Jeff- I don't think procreation is on his mind, no. I can safely say his plan is pretty twisted though. He sure is desperate to analyse the doctor..through any means possible..all will unfold in later chapters..

Blyndsyght – Thank you so much for your review! I was really worried that Gretchen was slipping into the age-old blind girl stereotype so your encouragement meant a lot. If I ever stray to such lows **please** alert me.

Jasmine- Thank you1 It's really great to have people like your OC! There are too many Mary Sues around, I guess..

Kyro - Your continued encouragement is greatly appreciated here at Casa Capponi..Biiig thanks!

Nitemaregirl – Yeah, I think a break from 'Clarice orientated' fics is good too…I still love her of course! **Hugs**

Early morning in a hospital for the 'Criminally Insane' is not really morning at all, in its truest essence. Rather, it is time for shift switches, toast burning and gruel stirring, Barney reflected with the damnation of those who have enjoyed but two hours solid sleep. The acidic tang of industrial cleaner floated down to his office on a warm breeze of cremated toast and he buried his nose in the rim of his coffee cup as he raised it to his lips to rid his nostrils of the scent.

"Barney?"

He turned at the voice. A young, rather weak chinned young man stood in the narrow doorway in a ill-fitting orderly uniform.

"Yes?"

"I'm supposed to give these to you. For Lecter. I've taken out all the paperclips and staples and stuff."

The young man sounded bored and Barney noticed with distaste a slick of oil around the sides of his nose.

"Thank-you. Are you absolutely positive you removed all sharp, hard or potentially self-damaging materials? I need you to be sure on this."

Perhaps his slight fear of the taller man prevented him from actually rolling his eyes, Barney thought, but the gesture was invisibly expressed none the less.

"Mmmmhmm. Absolutely, one hundred percent."

Barney nodded and took the thick bundle.

"Oh, and I've got a message for you about Gretchen someone. Got one for her too. She on your ward?"

A slight furrow appeared between his wide spaced eyes as Barney nodded again.

Gretchen Archer, yes. Where is it?"

"Huh? Oh, no it's a verbal message. She can't see nothing can she? Letter'd be no good for her."

A slight grin slid onto his face and Barney felt his dislike of the young man ratchet up a notch.

"Well tell me then and I shall deliver it directly." Barney replied tersely.

Further down the hall, Gretchen sat huddled in her usual spot facing out onto the bleak corridor. She was humming to herself softly- the first oral utterance she had made since her first confrontation with her cellmate. Dr Lecter could not quite place the tune but it had a lilting rhythm to it that spoke of Irish roots. It was pleasant to hear compared to the howls and clatters that would awake soon after their creators did. He was still lying on his bed, pursuing his battered copy of 'The Divine Comedy', awaiting his morning mail delivery. He thought he heard voices up by Barneys post.

As Barneys footsteps sounded down the narrow corridor, he pushed himself into a sitting position and swung his legs over the edge of the bed to rest on the cold floor. He had pondered asking the young woman to use the bed that night but she had never asked so he had decided to wait until she did. His sense of etiquette was arising again this morning as he surveyed the rather pathetic looking girl, had she slept properly since she arrived? He doubted it. However her insomnia didn't seem to be due to the general soundtrack of asylum nights consisting of wet snores, grunts, screams and incoherent ramblings. He thought that perhaps she had been a resident at one, if not more, other asylums of such nature as this delightful establishment.

Barney appeared in front of the cell and reached for the food carrier.

"Lot of mail today, doctor. Expecting anything?"

"Nothing specific, no. Ah, the latest Vogue."

He took his bundle over to his desk and placed the magazine separately, scanning the French lure lines on the cover.

"And I have a message for you, Miss Archer."

Barneys voice softened slightly when addressing the young woman. She looked up in surprise.

"Who from?"

Barney shifted slightly on his feet.

"Your…guardian. A Mr.-"

"Warwick?" The young woman broke in, worry clouding her features, anger and fear in her voice.

This was the first real show of emotion Dr Lecter had witnessed from the young woman and he looked up form his mail. Also…that name…it clanged on a memory in his palace- one he would rather ignore.

Barney looked slightly wary on broaching this topic.

"Yes. Mr Warwick has delivered me a very..interesting propersition. He has basically-"

"-offered to pay you a disgustingly large amount of money to fabricate reports of my unwieldy and uncontrollable violence?"

"He's done it before?"

She nodded, flicking an anxious look to her cellmate who was listening with interest.

"I thought he may have. I just wanted to tell you that I refused any such offer."

He watched as the young woman gave a tentative smile that was genuine but so out of practice it didn't seem to sit right on her pointed features.

"Thank you. I hear great kindness in your voice. I did not expect that." She tilted he head as she spoke as if surveying him.

Barney shrugged. He had the message he was to give to her on the tip of his tongue but that nervous, beaten smile just took it out of him. He would not- could not tell her such things. He promised himself he would have to sometime though. Sometime. Not now.

As Barney left, Dr Lecter turned his maroon gaze to his cellmate with new interest. She tilted her head towards him, her eyes staring blankly into the distance yet he almost felt as if her mind was connecting with him.

"Is it James Warwick of whom you speak?" he asked finally.

Her brows narrowed and her face tilted upwards.

"You know him?"

She sounded shocked, even slightly frightened.

"You could say that." The tone of his voice suggested it had not been an entirely pleasant acquaintance to say the least. "He is your guardian?"

She gave a rueful, rather strained smile.

"You could say that." She echoed. "He calls himself my guardian but I haven't seen him in the flesh for.." she broke off in thought. "..nearly twelve years I think."

"You have been in the system that long?"

She hunched defensively.

She flared up, like butane on a naked flame.

"Just because I haven't seen him doesn't mean I wanted to see him or was fettered by asylums. Why should you assume I'm some…some pathetic little head case since birth just because.."

Then as suddenly as it began, her tirade stopped as if someone had slapped her.

"I'm sorry." She mumbled, fumbling in her pocket for something and curling it into her fist.

Dr Lecter had watched her rant with his eyebrows slightly raised. Volatile little creature, she was when provoked. But then the sudden, almost instant repent…why?

Dr Lecter mused to himself as he watched her fingers stroke and knead at the soft, cold fur of her mouse.

He rose slowly and lowered himself down beside her.

"It's okay." He said softly.

"Don't patronise me." She hissed quietly.

"I don't intend to. What I do expect, however is a civil conversation with a fellow adult." His voice was soft but his carefully chosen words hit a chord in the young woman.

She nodded slowly. His scent fused with the cold air around her nostrils. He smelt clean but his body held an alluring smoky musk that was a scent all of its own. No emotions were betrayed in his scent- he was perfectly in control. When he was sleeping, however, he let out a kaleidoscope of conflicting and converging scents that teased her nose from across the cells. She wondered what his dreams were made of.

"What is your name?" she asked softly, turning to him at last.


	5. Chapter Five

I give you Chapter Five…and this is v.v. quick for me…amazing what many a cup of very strong espresso can prompt you to do. **takes biiiig slurp of sweet, sweet coffee.**

Jeff- I apologise for depriving you of that crucial 'introduction' moment but I assure you it being postponed is for a reason. As for Lecter and Warwick, I can say they were briefly acquainted through a 'mutual friend'…

Blyndsyght- Thank you for reading! Yes, my erratic chapter lengths are my downfall. I think this one is longer, though.

GuessWhp- (Who? Who?) **shuffles feet** Yes, well I am afraid due to plot development that moment has been postponed…but only for a while! Keep reading!

Bibbiddyboo- (cool name!) Yay! New reader! You think my chapter lengths are right? Yay! Im always told they're too long or short.

Nanci- Hello! Thank-you for reading! The whole 'wall breaking' thing is a lot harder to write believably than I had anticipated but I hope you enjoy.

Anyhoo, I need to add the great and brilliant M. Night Shyamalan to my disclaimer after seeing 'The Village' (anyone else love that film!) and using the lead, Ivy as a base for observing the realistic behaviour of a young, blind woman, although I think it is important to note Gretchen is her own character and in no way **based** on Ivy…just little trends used…I also listen to the soundtrack of said film whilst writing this fiction…it is just so relevant and moving…now onto the fiction **cavalry charge style horn blow **

**Hindsight Chapter Five**

Hannibal Lecter looked down at the young woman requesting his name with some surprise. So Chilton had decided to leave her unaware of her cellmates identity. Should he tell her now? How lucid could she be toward him after such a revelation? He was not sure exactly how long she had been socially constricted in asylums and the like, but if she knew of him it would most likely be from the exaggerated trash sales of the Tattler. Not good. He knew he would not shy from telling her when the time came, but her casual tone suggested it was simply a conversation starter and his answer would certainly halt any chance of that.

He pondered for several seconds then spoke.

"Do you find that completely relevant?"

She seemed to think about that, intrigued that he did not simply answer.

"Is it such a great secret you cannot tell me straight out?" Her head cocked to the side like an inquisitive rodent, a trait he noted once in himself.

"It is no great secret, I wondered if a name can truly open a person up. Names are simply labels after all."

She looked ever so slightly irritated.

"Then what am I to call you?"

"You have not addressed me at all in over a week. Why do you feel the sudden irrepressible urge to reach out now?"

"You are drifting, and don't you think I can't see it." A small smile was on her lips. "Why you ask? I…" She broke off, apparently thinking how to phrase her reasoning.

"…you have a kindness in your voice, a respect I suppose when you spoke to that man. I did not expect that." She sounded genuine, even to the doctors' skilled ears. There was innocence in her frank honesty that intrigued him. The innocent were so easily manipulated.

"Hmmm…I am in a hospital for the criminally insane therefore I must also be a inarticulate raver?"

"For the _criminally_ insane? Well, James certainly has out done himself this time, I must say. And I apologise for my stereotyping but I have had…interesting experiences in my time."

Her voice donated a carefully placed tone of dark humour to hide the true pain linked to these memories.

"James Warwick." The doctor mused. " I certainly did not expect to hear that name again."

Gretchens' fingers were moving over the mouse corpse once more, seeming to gain a primal comfort from the touch but its maturing scent of decay was intolerable to the doctor.

"What do you gain from that mouse? Its aroma is utterly disagreeable, you must notice."

She opened her mouth then shut it with a sigh, looking down at her hands and the flaccid mouse lying there.

"I didn't mean to kill it." She said very softly, as if to the mouse itself. "I really didn't, I just needed to…it was just…so little" Her voice crooned slightly with disappointment. She gave an exasperated sigh, trying to form an articulate summary of her intention.

"I just…like soft things. I like the way they feel. Fur or feathers or silk are exquisite to my touch. Beautiful in their texture, their soft, smoothness. Its what I have instead of sunsets and seasons." She shrugged with a humourless smile.

She frowned slightly as if on reflection.

"I suppose I'm not here under false pretences after all." She said softly, as if to herself, then uttered a harsh laugh. "Criminally insane, indeed."

"False pretences?" The doctor frowned slightly. "You have never been diagnosed with a psychiatric malfunction?"

She shook her head thoughtfully with a dry smile.

"Oh, of course. By the good Dr. Doemling. Clipboard in one hand, a thick wad of dollars in the other, courtesy of my ever loving 'guardian'."

"He really wants you out of his way."

"Bingo." She said, slouching down the wall slightly, arms tucked around her knees.

" What threat do you pose?" He wondered out loud, looking sceptically at the slight build of the young woman. In the white issue clothes, she looked utterly bleached, void of any zeal or zest. Certainly not a danger to the business tycoon that was James Warwick if he had not deviated in stance since their very brief and very hostile acquaintance and if the stories in 'Vogue' were anything to go by he certainly had not. So why did he fear this scrawny young thing enough to pay great amounts of money securing her containment from society?

What was she hiding?

"It is a long story that I have no wish to account at this time."

Her voice never deviated from its quiet courtesy, yet there was an assertiveness that closed that branch of conversation. For now atleast, Dr Lecter decided to leave it. Only for the time being. His unending curiosity was piqued. Perhaps this little drama could afford him some solace from the monotonous oppressive atmosphere of this place.

Of course, if Chilton thought dangling this damaged young creature in front of him then whipping her away again would give him even the tiniest of peeks into his psyche he was sadly mistaken. But then again, the doctor mused, Chilton often found himself sadly mistaken…or simply sad.

The doctor smiled to himself.

"Give me your mouse"

She turned to him, a frown lowering her brows and twisting her mouth.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

She turned her head from him, to her lap still cradling her mouse, then back up.

"If the smell is bothering you I can move over…"

"No, you will not. You will give me the mouse. You have no need for it."

"I just told you why..." She shrank away but it was anger, not fear that clouded her face.

"You just told me what I had already deduced myself and I also happen to know than you do not need that mouse in your hands. Give it to me."

She made to move along the bars but he was quick into a crouch, blocking her as a panther marks its prey. With one arm sweeping the near vicinity erratically she again tried to get away from the corner which had become her prison but again she felt the warmth of his body knocking her off balance.

She let out a strangled cry and swung with the fist holding the mouse, its dead tail whipping Dr Lecters cheek with a sharp sting. With a muted snarl he grabbed her wrist and thrust it out into the gap between the twine and the bars so her mouse was held haphazardly above the unreachable ground.

With a slight sob, half of grief, half anger to the point of fury she struggled fiercely, going for his throat with her free hand.

He captured that wrist too, and letting his thick dark hair fall into his face slightly he pushed her thin, world-worn fingers against it.

She stopped struggling almost instantly as her fingers explored the soft, clean hair wrapped around her fingers. It was waved ever so slightly at the tips and tendrils tickled her wrist.

"You do not need the mouse." He repeated, tilting his head back until her wrist rested on his nose and fore head, her fingers still locked in his hair. "There is softness all around- in taste and touch and smell. I can show you." His nose was blowing short snatches of warm breath down her sleeve, over the thin, pale skin that pulsed with her scent at every beat of her erratic pulse. "I am telling you, you do not need that pathetic mouse. Just drop it." He could smell her so strongly now, through that translucent skin. She smelt of cold days and bitter leaves and something beneath.

Her breathing was harsh, her fingers clenched into a fist, clenched hard, holding the soft, warm hair, as in her other hand she held the cold, limp mouse.

Ever so slowly, the fingers caging the mouse slackened until the rodent fell with a tiny thud to the concrete floor.

Both of her hands smoothed through his hair, her face tensed with interest and calculation and her eyes opened again. The brightness of their colour still intrigued him. Olive green, yet bleached almost white just around her pupils. He had never seen such types of iris markings before but he thought some memory thudded in his palace, as if falling from a shelf or desk, wishing to be noticed but he passed it by for later musings when his mind was not so occupied.

Her fingers smoothed his hair one last, reverent time then she sat again, turning to the final resting-place of her mouse. With the slightest of smiles she nodded to him and shuffled back to her corner, closed off again. Dr Lecter considered her carefully. What an enigma she was turning out to be, like a bundle of knots, but he had started the slow unravelling and he would not stop until his curiosity was sated. Or until she was taken from him. Whichever would occur first.

Silently he turned and sat at his desk, flicking through the mail Barney had just dropped off. One letter stood out although it was near the bottom of the stack. It was thick, heavy paper of a finer quality than the others yet picked with very little taste. Even before the offensive scent of equally expensive and equally tasteless after shave met his nostrils he knew who had sent him this letter. The notion was met with little welcome or anticipation.

Pulling the very top left hand corner free and into view the gold header confirmed his suspicions.

In gold embossed copperplate text it wrote, 'James Warwick and Partners'.

**AN: Yes, I know I wriggled out of Hannibal revealing his identity but it was not cowardice but a sudden plot change that cause it… so don't flame! Hope you enjoyed it…wow this was a very speedy update for me, wasn't it? I really like this fiction so the next chapter is already half written but I need some feedback before my sensitive ego will allow it to be seen…shuffles feet Anyhoo R+R and all that jazz!**

**Capponi**


	6. Chapter Six

And like greased lightning here I am with yet another chapter **several readers drop dead with sheer shock** So here is Chapter the Sixth and I hope you enjoy it…it breaks from the present action to delve a little into Gretchens past and her link with the good doctor.

Jeff **equally wicked grin** Well, let's just say it is going to be pretty satisfying when you really learn what a …ahem…'nasty' Warwick really is…and he will have help from his lovely assistant no doubt!. However there are chapters and chapters before that so keep reading!

XTHPHOIDMARYX- Yay! My insecurities about my OC are yet more diminished! You go Gretch, they love ya!..Yes, and the blind issue I answered instantly in a review so plz check.

Kyro- Ergh…essays suck…and they are never about Hannibal adoration or I would do so well…darn it…And no I have not stopped! The chapters are coming thick and fast so keep reading!

Nanci- Yes, caffeine…stimulant of the Gods…and legal too! **hugs coffee pot** Glad you enjoyed last chapter- I hadn't really planned the mouse business but I am glad with the way it turned out!

JahWarrior- Ah-ha! Hello there, fellow Studiolo-ite! Thank you for taking the time to find/read my story…much appreciated. I'm on a roll with this 'un so keep following!

Wolf- Glad you're hooked! Hope my caffeine fuelled fingers can whip up the chapters fast enough to keep y'all engaged…I will try…sups more of that lovely, lovely coffee

Bibbidy-boo- I know! After a coupl'a 'doppio espresso's' and I'm pelting out these chapters…wo0t!

The contact thing was hard to write (god, I'm always griping about something…) because I didn't want it to appear too sexual…well not at the present time…possibly…ahem…and yay! I am actually updating…again! Hell freezes over

And thank-yousies to any other reviewers I haven't named!

Also, biiiig thank you to my newest beta reader, demon sloth, who may find innuendo in **everything** (grrrrr!) buuuut does put up with my disgusting amount of typos and other cock ups of the key variety…so yeah…any of those…blame her..gyahahahahahaha!

The letter did not engage Dr Lecter interest for very long, but he followed it to the end just in case the foolish man gave something interesting away. It was what Dr Lecter had been expecting for a while, ever since he realised the young woman's connection with Warwick. It gloated of his recent business achievements- little more than good use of well paid advisors- and over the fact 'my old nut doctor is down there amongst his nuts, now', apparently much to Warwick's' amusement. It confirmed what Dr Lecter had already deduced of his relation to Gretchen and the terms in which she arrived into this world. And perhaps most interesting to Dr Lecter, it spoke of her mother, Emily Archer. The sole tie between this arrogant, distasteful man and himself.

Dr Lecter put the paper down slowly, his mind storing the flow of bitter words for later reference, his mind neatly storing it then racing fast, fast onto a very different wing of the great memory palace. Great cherry wood doors opened soundlessly and he swept through, the drawers of a vast cabinet shooting open, spilling their contents for his hurried inspection. A soft, rose coloured leather book fell to his feet and all the memories he had bound to it hit him.

Emily Archer as she was then, so alike her daughter that lay in front of him now.

Emily Archer then.

He called up their very first meeting in the large, airy space of his Baltimore office. He was seated at his thick panelled oak desk when she entered, pecking nervously on the door. Waiting for his voice before she entered the room.

_She was a small, timid looking woman. Her hair was tied up in a neat bun, a few unruly tendrils spilling out behind her ears. Her face showed signs of great physical beauty, ruined by the strain in her eyes and skin. She smelt clean and fresh but had no defining aroma of her own. Dr Lecter had found that strange._

_Sitting on his couch now, he watched her speak, her mouth drawn with anguish, her neat brows tucked together over her once lively eyes._

"_I can't even stand to touch her, doctor. Isn't that terrible? My own child and I feel nothing towards her. All I see is her father- in her eyes there he is, all the time. It just keeps taking me back and I can't stand it any more. Please, please help me."_

_There were tears making her eyes fresh looking and bitter._

_Dr Lecter had diagnosed her as having severe Post Natal Depression but she had suffered acute depression in the past and also trauma in the attack nearly five years ago that had lead to her rejected child. He organised more sessions with her and eventually began to gain her trust, although she remained skitterish as a wild colt. Her plight touched him as he never had been before by a case. He finally worked around to getting her to relive the traumatic attack that had left her isolated and scared for her life and that of her child. _

_She stared at her hands for many minutes, the dry fingers knotted around one another in tension. Finally she looked up at him, her eyes betraying fresh tears she was now strong enough to withhold. _

"_Of course I was flattered he even noticed me. I had only seen him in passing before of course, except from in 'Time' or on the television. And one day it was just he and I in his office and he started to talk. I don't even remember what it was we spoke of now, but it seemed fascinating at the time."_

_She gave a small laugh and seemed to ease a bit, her fingers relaxing if only for the moment. Dr Lecter knew he had gained her trust and knew of the rare substance it was made. He felt that trust now and was careful not to exploit it for his own motives. His anger had been running a mock at the present, he had killed two in the space of a fortnight and he felt the tug of whim pulling him to strike again._

"_He asked me out to dinner as I was leaving that night- of course who was I to refuse? Any woman would give her right leg to even speak to him as I had. And as I said…I was… flattered."_

_Her voice betrayed a weary certainty she would never be able to experience such young passion and whim again. Not now. Not ever._

"_He took me to the most luxurious restaurant in town- Casa Bellisimo on Garrett Front Street. It was fantastic, the food, the candles, the company…"_

_She gave an ironic laugh that betrayed her saddened, damaged soul._

"_And then of course he felt he had…earned something. I should have known it wasn't my charming company he was after."_

"_If he could not find pleasure in your mere company, then the man is a bigger fool than even I imagined." Dr Lecter said with real vehemence and Emily could see he was utterly genuine. She gave him a rare smile that only tinged her world weary eyes. _

"_Well of course I got invited up for 'coffee' and he started getting progressively closer …then he began toughing my leg and my arm and I stood up to leave. I told him we must be here on different agendas and he looked sheepish and told me I could go. The son of a bitch even said sorry."_

_She broke off, her breath catching in her throat._

"_You have went far enough if it is still too painful, Emily. I am proud of you."_

_She laughed but there were tears behind the empty sound._

"_I want to get this all out now. I will not let that man ruin my life any more than he has. I am not scared of him any more."_

_Her voice shook but it was resolute. Dr Lecter looked slightly concerned but he nodded for her to continue._

"_I was pulling my coat on when he came up behind me. He looked appalled with himself and begged my forgiveness. Oh god I was such a gullible little fool. He said it so…so genuinely. And he offered me a drink to calm myself. Said he would stand away if I felt more comfortable. I thought it had all passed. I still felt slightly flattered that he would be interested in me of all people. His humble little secretary._

_I drank the wine he gave me. I remember it tasted expensive. That's the last thingl I remember. When I came to, it was morning and I was inside my own apartment but I had no recollection of getting there. I couldn't remember anything at the time, it was all a foggy daze that hurt to think about. _

_But over the next few weeks it all came back to me- piece by piece. I couldn't face work, I felt terrible. Ashamed and dirty and sick to my very gut. And then, after about six weeks I went to my doctor about the sickness, which had become physical vomiting- I thought it was still psychological horror even then."_

_She sighed and looked out the window at a fantastic rusty Baltimore sunset, the autumn hues picked out the fine cheekbones hidden in her weary face. _

"_And she sat me down and told me I was to have a child."_

_She gasped quietly with grief and covered her face with her hands. Her next words were muffled but the raw emotion burned through._

"_And now I cannot even stand to look at that child because every time I do I just think of that manipulative man and his sick little power games. It is not my daughters fault, doctor, but I hate her. I hate my own child for something she had no control over. I'm a monster."_

_She broke off with a sob of helpless grief and Dr Lecter felt he could come closer. He put his arm around her thin shoulders and let her cry it all out- all the pain, misery, anger and guilt she had welled up for so long. _

"_The only monsters in this world are people like James Warwick who think they can use good people like you to achieve their own petty means." Dr Lecter said assertively, pulling her hands gently from her face and holding them very lightly should she want to pull away from a mans touch. She did not. She looked into his deep, dark eyes and felt the first, tiny stirrings of peace as she had on the day she realised she had a tiny being growing inside her._

_She sniffed and averted her eyes._

"_Then why do I feel such hate for my daughter, doctor? Why can't I be the mother she needs? It has been nearly four years since she was born and still I turn from her affection. She doesn't understand. She's growing up so fast too, what if she thinks it's her fault I can't be around her? She needs support even more than any other child. She can't see, doctor. She was born blind and I have not been there for her, to help her cope in the slightest."_

_Dr Lecter knelt before her, still holding her hands._

"_You are everything she needs, but you have a great, great trauma to overcome before you can devote yourself to her. That is all, Emily. She can expect nothing more of you and she will not. _

_You will always be her mother and no one can take that from you. Of course her origins cause you painful memories right now and you associate those feelings of pain with her, thus you retaliate with what you describe as hate. You do not hate Gretchen, Emily. You hate James Warwick for abusing you, you hate the torrid, vulgar conditions your only child had to come into the world but you do not hate your daughter, Emily. _

_You are too strong to let Warwick ruin your relationship with your daughter too. You are strong, Emily."_

He let her cry again then, but now she was mourning the destruction of an old phase of her life and slowly she was ready o move onwards and upwards.

_What happened that very night to this broken woman who was slowly growing again, Dr Lecter could not have predicted even with his heightened foresight. _

_It was the sole vent that placed her daughter in the hands of her father. Her father who was so scared of a scandal he paid a Christian boarding school to take her full board from the age of five then on her twelfth birthday took her on a 'surprise visit' to a friend of his' house. This 'friend' was Dr Flaycorps or St. Jonads Hospital for mentally deficient youths. The visit was to reward the good doctor with a great sum of money to declare his only daughter insane and a hazard the public and then he quite happily saw her incarcerated for an indefinite amount of time._

But Dr Lecter was not to know any of this…not yet.

His new cellmate held the other half of the answers to unlock this puzzle. If she would talk again.

Dr Lecter came back to the present time and looked at the young woman. It was so obvious now- the relation. It was almost striking the resemblance between mother and daughter when one chose to look. But one thing Emily Archer had said of her daughter- this woman in front of him now by some quirk of fate or careful planning- stuck in his mind.

Her eyes.

She did have the eyes of her father. The deep olive green with the pale rim around the pupil. Now Dr Lecter realise where he had seen those eyes before.

Looking out of the smug, self satisfied face of Mr James Warwick as he told Dr Lecter, in his respective session with the psychiatrist the sordid details of his deed, not realising then that he had a daughter growing inside his victim.

He also was ignorant, as was Dr Lecter, of the dominant genes he had passed on to her.

He knew of the one giving her those striking eyes with their unusual markings on the iris, identical to his own thus sparking his fear of a scandal if Emily had followed through her threat. But he was utterly unaware, as was Dr Lecter, of the one carrying Negli's aplastic anaemia, a fatal disease of the bone marrow, if not fully diagnosed and treated.

But still, thought Dr Lecter, his eternal humour in the ironies of life surfacing, with all these odds stacked against her, whilst her sight failed even in the early stages of development in the womb, she must have grown and fought and came to be sitting here, on the cold concrete floor of the basement of an asylum for the Criminally Insane. Interesting what quirks of fate can do.

Dr Lecter rose from the table, ripping the letter from James Warwick into eight uniform bits then dropping them, spinning, spinning, sinking into the latrine and he pushed on the flush with satisfaction.

Gretchen looked up at the noise of the water gurgling then sensed his eyes firmly fixed back on her and dropped her head.

"Quirks of fate." Dr Lecter mused to himself quietly.

He moved slowly to her side and kneeled a little way from her.

"I think there is something you have to know. I-"

He broke off and looked over his shoulder as the gate at the top slammed. The oily voice of Chilton reached his ears and he moved back to his desk, watching the space in front of the cell for the arrival of his _favourite_ doctor.

Chilton appeared with three burly orderlies and Barney who was obviously arguing something but it fell on deaf ears and he gave up, throwing Dr Lecter what could have been an apologising look. What was going on here? It certainly was all go, go, go with this young woman in his cell, he though drolly.

"Miss Archer, you need to come with us now." Chilton barked, his eyes quick and bright like a sneaky blackbird peering at another bird's meal, with every intention to steal it the second it looked away.

"Lecter, back up against the bars here." One of the thickset orderlies ordered. Dr Lecter could smell the fear under the authority.

"But of course." He said, pleasantly, as if the orderly had asked the time.

Lecter shot a look at the woman who was looking at the floor determinedly as he backed up against the mesh and felt the usual restraints being pulled on non too gently.

Once he was secured and on his bunk, the orderlies entered and two grabbed Gretchen by either elbow. Dr Lecter could smell a bitter tang of anger at being pulled up and fear at not gaining her balance. He knew from patients that any blind person hates being forcibly moved, especially by such rough men as these. He felt nothing but abstract interest, of course. It must be true what she had said about Warwick paying to get her locked up for the orderlies used no restraints on her and showed no fear of her what so ever. Interesting.

Was this Chiltons' little emotion play going into action? Was he supposed to mourn the young woman's leave like some lovesick child? Oh really, Chilton had forced him to endure some pretty banal tests before but this? This was really scraping the barrel. He was a little glad of the company of another, he had to admit but he was disciplined enough to remain distant and aloof. He had little need for other people, as Chilton should know if he had even the little intellect Dr Lecter credited him with.

Gretchen was pulled out into the corridor and held whilst they loosened his restraints and slammed shut the bars, then she was led up the corridor and out of sight.

He never got to tell her of her mothers problems, he realised and a nanosecond later realised he had truly wanted to. Was it just to gain insight on Emily's life after his incarceration? Dr Lecter freed himself and dumped the restraints into his food carrier, slamming it though harder than normal.


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven.

It had been three days nearly to the hour before Dr Lecter heard movement up at the orderly post and although he did not look up from his sketching, his eyes narrowed slightly and he concentrated his hearing to pick up the far off voices. Barneys higher tones reached him easily but his words were still incomprehensible murmurs to the doctor. He waited.

Footsteps now, not many, two people perhaps? Coming closer, slowly, and then a smell he recognized. The smell of cooling wires after conducting a great deal of electrical power, the smell of suppressed rage mingled with this cool, calm scent with sharp undertones of power. Gretchen was returning. He still did not raise his head from the concentrated position above his paper but his eyes widened again to normal and he glanced up from beneath his lashes at the barred vantage point his cell afforded him.

They had stopped now. He was sure it was only Gretchen, Barney and another orderly by the name of Grant who always carried the bitter scent of garlic around with him, seeping from his overlarge pores no doubt.. Barney dismissed the garlic drenched orderly and muttered something to Gretchen, who replied with a snort of cynical anger then muttered something back in hushed, almost hissed tones.

Ah.

So she had been informed of certain facts.

Dr Lecter wondered how Chilton had presented what little he knew to the young woman. However it had been done, he had no doubt it painted him in a less than positive light. How that man loved to interfere. No matter, though. If Chilton was determined to try and break him with this damaged young woman, Dr Lecter was sure he could find a way of retaliating. He would have to think about it though, and for that he had all the time in the world.

She was in front of the cell now- Barney wasn't even holding her he noted. How different to how he was handled outside his cell. Although, he mused, he had proved himself to be rather volatile, and craftily so. He smiled slightly. Barney looked over to him.

"Doctor?" He sounded weary. Perhaps he had been arguing with Dr Chilton, the doctor thought. He was quite indignant of the current set up.

"Yes, Barney?" Still not looking up.

"Can you sit tight while I pass through your cellmate here? If I have to get Grant back down here with the restraints and mace, you know I will, but I'd like to save everyone the bother if possible."

"But of course" He drawled lazily, still not looking up at the two.

"But look!" Gretchens voice now, with purpose and intent sounded quite different to her usual abstract tones. "That cells totally empty. Why can't I just stay in there? I won't be any extra bother, I promise I won't."

"You've just heard me argue that point quite unsuccessfully. It's just how life is at the moment, okay? You'll just have to deal with it." He muttered to her, as if wishing Dr Lecter hadn't heard her complaints. Perhaps that is what he was saying to her in muted tones earlier.

Once inside the cell and under lock again, Gretchen faded back into the expressionless, emotionless shadow she had posed as since her arrival. That wouldn't do any more, he thought, she knows too much now. Well, too much misinformed information anyway. A time for action has come.

"So what have they told you then, little girl?"

"Don't patronize me, please." She said tonelessly, a small waver in her voice.

He moved closer. An offensive strategy had worked before.

"I asked you a question. Let us not repeat this game again. It bores me."

She twitched her head irritably, but her fear of him was still to great to warrant a reply. Just push her a little further, he thought. Anger loosens the tongues of the most stoic men, or women in this case.

"What did they tell you? Indulge me, dearest. I simply wish to know how misinformed you have become."

A short derisive laugh that ended in a involuntary gasp of anger and misery. Her mouth clenched and blanched at the slip of strength.

"Please don't let your manners slip, Gretchen. It doesn't become you. All I ask is an answer." He let his voice drop, almost seductively.

She turned to him then, her face an easel to her pain, her anger, her frustration.

"I don't **believe** you…I really don't." She hissed. "Was my mother not enough? Is your twisted existence not saited by her death? Am I next then? Well good. I welcome it."

"Dramatic, aren't we?" His voice was amused and he made little effort to hide it. Her cheeks colored some more. "And please don't leave reality for the sopping plains of self pity. It shall be most tedious for all involved. You welcome death no more than one of my victims mother would welcome me for tea and biscuits."

Her eyebrows rose at his flippant words.

"You joke about murder as if it is some amusing playground rhyme."

"Oh come now, if nothing else have a sense of humor. I can see one lurking somewhere." He brushed his fingertips over her forehead and she recoiled, a hand shooting up to protect herself in a flash.

He laughed and pushed his thumb against her nose teasingly.

"Get the hell away from me!" She cried trying to rise but he blocked her movement with a quick shove on her shoulder. She landed back on her backside rather harder than expected and winced. Her expression was thunder.

"Do you believe that I harmed your mother then?"

"I know." She muttered darkly. "You treated her. She went to you for help. Help!" Her voice was shaking and she took a deep breath to still it. " But you didn't help her, you didn't and that's why she's dead. That's why she kicked that chair from under her. She wanted help and you didn't…you should have…it's you, all you aftph-" A cool hand clamped over her mouth and its mate pushed on the back of her head, muffling all further speech. She was reaching hysteria. He put his face very close to hers and she struggled like a wild dog, teeth trying to catch the taut skin of his palm.

"Listen to me now, child- and if you bite me I shall make you very sorry-" He hissed in her ear, hands compressing her skull until she calmed. "You're very quick to pin your mother unfortunate demise on me. Why is that, Gretchen? Deep down I think you know who killed her, who made her take that last leap. Do you ever think, late at night, that maybe, just maybe if you had been a better daughter, if you had been stronger, older, smarter that she wouldn't have taken her life? Do you ever think that it's your faults that reduced her to that cold, swinging thing in the back bedroom?"

His voice was getting harsher with every word and the young woman was still now, great gasps of pain and misery blowing against his palm, those great green eyes, the eyes of her mother's demon were closed but tears were dripping off her sharp chin and onto her shoulders and breasts.

He pushed his warm lips closer still, so he could feel the tender flesh of her ear against them.

"Then you would be wrong, Gretchen Archer. You were the last reason your mother had to keep living in this world. And I know who was the reason she left it. Who it was that made her life so bearable that she chose to leave her beloved daughter to face the world alone."

Suddenly Gretchen stiffened and issued a great racking cough that seemed to grate past her throat. Then another and another. Dr Lecter took his hands from her face in alarm and she bent over the white knees of her pajamas, body wracking with these great rasping coughs and gasping breaths between. As suddenly as it started, the coughing fit stopped but the woman stayed bent over her knees, gasping painful in, very slowly, something seeming to grate on her larynx.

Dr Lecter felt a tickle on his palm, the one that had been covering her mouth and looked down to see it spattered with droplets of blood and a good amount at that. On her knees too; flecks of crimson blood.

She sat back, oblivious to the blood, concentrating only on the pain in her chest.

"Who?" Her speech seemed labored but the raw emotion behind it could not be masked by any amount of pain or restriction.

He watched her silently, rubbing his hands together into a red, smeary mess without seeming to notice. A smell crease appeared between his eyebrows.

"Who!" She reached for him, found a handful of his shirt and held on tightly, although her hand was shaking.

Did he tell her outright? As a one word answer, divulge the culprits name? Or explain the circumstances surrounding the demise of one Emily Archer, keeping the actual identity of her worthless father from her until the conclusion? Letting her see the whole grisly picture at once, understanding her fathers single minded ambition and see its casualties. The latter one seemed the best approach..best hit her with the full dose of his knowledge and later she would tell him what he wished to know. About Emily Archers last minutes both living and in death. Only this girl held that.

Looking down at his red, red hands he told her all of what he had recalled earlier in a calm, constant voice. As each fact fell into place and the tale was, at least partially, told the colour ran out of Gretchens face like rain from a window pane. But it was not shock. Oh no. It was something more powerful, more destructive and wholly more satisfying to Dr Lecter. Unbridled fury. If James Warwick was to meet the end he deserved, then it would be at the hands of his abused daughter.

Gretchen sat silent for many minutes after hearing of her mothers reason for therapy, of her abuse at the hands of the man she called father. Finally she opened her mouth, brow furrowing, then shut it again. She tried again.

"So..she didn't want me? My mother. I'm a rape child. No wonder she shied from me for so long. I felt her…her disgust when she was around me. It was always so repressed I could kid myself it was just my imagination but…but…"

She made a vague gesture of confused despair in the air and fell silent, tears still sliding down her pale face.

"She wished to hold only love in her heart for you. She wished so hard but she never could, not totally. But that isn't your fault or her fault. Its circumstance. All of life is just circumstance. We can only be 'in control of our lives', as so many magazines encourage, if we are able to create circumstances that benefit us in the moment we live in."

She seemed to ponder his words. "I do not completely understand, but I can see the concept. The only circumstance I wish to bring about right this moment is the untimely and inexplicably painful death of my father-no, I won't call him my father. A father is everything he is not to me."

Standing and moving to the sink, Dr Lecter let the tap run over his red hands and watched Gretchens blood swirl and gurgle down the drain as he seen in so many showers after a successful and satisfying kill. It filled him with the same reckless passion that had ruled him at his 'heats'- times where killing was never far from his mind and opportunity was all powerful.

"One day, maybe you can bring that about. But you must always wait until you can get away with it. No victory is won if the avenger is caught. But one day, Gretchen. Keep that and work on it. One day." He sounded as if he was drifting away and indeed his mind was providing him with vivid flashed of his victims, intoxicating him, dragging him into the whimsical, flighty mood of his free days.

He turned to the girl, an almost maniacal glint in his dark eyes.

"How?" He whispered, low and husky.

She turned looking confused, lost in thought but brought half way back to reality by his question and not liking it.

He dropped back down next to her, but closer so he could smell the astringent soap in her hair from her shower and see the pores on her nose. His heat was rising and now he was nearly beyond being able or willing to stop it.

"How will you kill him? How do you picture him dying?" He was slightly breathless and pushed closer, fencing her further into her corner and he could smell the tang of her fear which only pushed his heat up higher, like a shark smelling blood.

"Shootings functional of course but you don't really get your hands dirty. Stabbing, cutting, _gutting_ is so much better- the smell of blood fills a room so fast and you can see the last glimmer of life in a persons eye fade, fade, fade, fade and its gone. Just like a flame…like a flame falling down the deepest, darkest well.."

"Stop it! What's wrong with you, you.." Real, raw fear now.

He laughed, low and dangerous.

"With me? Nothing, my dear. I simply bestow myself with the power to decide who has purged this world long enough with their pathetic destruction and banality. Is that wrong? Is it bad?"

"I..well, yes but.."

"Have you smelt fresh blood? It's so exquisitely bitter it has the slightest tang of sweetness. The feel of it- so warm and willing as it pours from the artery. The feeling of ridding the world of another deserter..another pathetic excuse of humanity."

"Deserter?" She whispered, confused but on some deeper level knowing she may have stumbled on a key piece of his mentality.

"Yes, there's always another, round the corner, down the street, on my couch whining to my oh-so sympathetic ear…yes, so many, so little time as they say?"

He laughed in his throat and pushed his nose against her cheek, slick with tears and fear-sweat and closed his teeth teasingly on her jaw, clamped just enough to worry.

"I can smell your blood lust. It's quite exquisite." He hissed into her ear, pulling her head close against his face, drawing a long pull of her scent from her trembling throat, her delicate pulse flickering against his lips like a butterfly fighting to free itself from its chrysalis. Should he free it? Free her from this pain? No, not yet- she had her task now and he was not yet through with her.

He rose then, and moved to his table where he resumed reading, his heat dissipating as water on a flat top cooker.


	8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

AN: I am truly sorry for the delay in between chapters- all who read this story have been nothing but supportive and encouraging and have aided me greatly by taking time to review my work and I reward you so poorly with my tardiness. I apologise most profusely and beg your pardon and favour.

(A very humble)Capponi

It was late when the girl moved from the corner he had pinned her into. Her movements were jerky and he could still smell the tinge of fear on her. He looked up from his sketch of her and watched her move- slender fingers outstretched like antennae as she moved towards his bed. Upon feeling the knock of metal against her shins, she bent stiffly and sat on the edge- warily turning in his direction as if fearful or retribution- or perhaps, he mused, is defiance of him. Showing she was not to be spooked by him or encounters such as their previous one. We shall see.

She folded her arms around her bent knees in the classic position of insecurity and leaned against the wall, eyes lids relaxing slightly. Her breathing was still slightly laboured from her coughing fit, although she hadn't coughed again since. He didn't suppose the girl had had much in the way of vaccinations in her time, thus the ailment could turn to be rather serious. Such a pity, to die in a God forsaken place like this, he mused folding his arms around his body. The temperature- usually flirting around the zero mark at the best of times- seemed to have plummeted in the last few hours; the doctor was now able to see spectral plumes at each exhalation.

Soft clanking at the far end of the corridor signalled someone entering the main lobby where Barney was stationed, further metal-on-metal grinding and the gate at the far end was pulled open. The husky notes of a jazz song reached the doctors ears and he leaned back in his chair- Barney was back on duty, perhaps he could enquire as to the lack of heating. Dr Lecter hated the cold- it reminded him of snow and slate grey skies. Skies that seemed breathtakingly high to a six year old boy and snow stained red with the blood of a small deer…and a small girl.

With a small gasp he closed his eyes, slamming up all his mental fortifications against the thick, cold memories full of screams and unanswered prayers and when he opened them again, slowing his racing heart, Barney stood in front of his cell.

"Good evening, Barney" His voice sounded tired to his ears, but no fear was evident in it.

"Doctor." Barney inclined his head. "On orders to alert all of the prisoners on this floor as to a heating…problem that has occurred. Personally I think the problem is Dr Chilton's overspending on new CCTV facilities meaning the heating's had to take the brunt of finances axe." Barney gave the small camera aimed at the doctors cell a pointed glance. "If admin were to find out about that venture, Chilton would be sweating and we wouldn't be shiverin'."

The doctor forced a smile. "Thank you for alerting me, Barney. Do you have any idea how long this inconvenience will be upon us?"

Barney shrugged his massive shoulders. "Can't say yet, doctor. We been tol' to say just this night- but looks to me it could be a full week until the finances is renewed."

Later that night, when the lights were shut off the cold became more acute to the doctor- not the unpleasantness of it but the sensory stimulus, without the rival one of sight cut by the darkness, that was causing his barriers to break down and flashes of awful memory were skittering through his mind.

Gretchen had since vacated the bed and was back in her corner, shivering but resolute not to infringe his territory at night. He lowered himself onto the bed, still clinging to remnant of the girls' heat and scent like tissue paper snagged on a blackberry bush. He wrapped the thin covers around his body, warding off the cold dark that flooded his memory place like a physical being, battering against door welded shut and cracking locks rusted with pointed disuse. The warmth now surrounding his physical body was doing nothing for his mind- dizzied and panicked as he fell into an uneasy slumber.

Gretchen awoke stiff, cold and disorientated. The cold became painfully acute as she came fully to her self and she huddled closer into herself, wondering what awoke her with such a jolt that her heart was thudding and adrenaline zesting her veins. Then it came again, a gasping cry from the bed- a cry that spoke of such acute pain it was itself painful to hear.

Gretchen dithered in her corner, undecided. Was he asleep or just playing with her- waiting for her to approach so as to attack? Attack? her inner voice asked, scathingly. Why would he need to playact to attack you- you're sharing about 20 square feet of space, stupid girl.

Another cry and movement- a panicky thrash from the bed sent a coil of scent to her- the scent of purest, irrational fear- almost animalistic in its true form. She recognised the scent- a scent she had detected emanating from her own body time after time in the past. Awful memories stirred in her mind at it- like mud swirls in the clear of a disturbed pond- snatches of screams and taunts and running into the back room, excitement at finding mommy, excitement quickly staling to confusion at only finding mommy's legs, stiff and cold- confusion souring to fear as the connection between the bruised, swollen face hanging from the light and mommy is made, the smell of death in her nose- bitter and musky at the same time.

With a soft whimper, Gretchen squeezed her useless yes shut, hoping to blot out everything, to fall back to dreamless safety but to no avail- she can feel it building. Breathing fast and irregular, she picks her way across the cell- the raw chill from the stone floor shooting up her legs causing hairs on the back of her neck to stand up, fear causing her heart to beat in her throat. Finding the warmth of his body she feels for the blanket edges and he gives a soft plaintive keen that sounds so much younger than the body it comes from, his breathing is quick and irregular- catching and rushing as if sprinting. His head jerks on the pillow, burying into the blanket and she leans against him, lying on the bed beside his fevered presence.

Making soft soothing noises- as much for her as him- she cradled his small figure against her and in turn nestled into his heat- sweaty and fevered as it was- trying to quell the thick, cloaking scent of fear coming from the sleeping man. His breathing became more regular and he leaned into her embrace, his lithe body still twitching like a sleeping spaniel. Just as she thought he had calmed back into sleep, he gave a great cry and she felt his body surge as he sat bolt upright, breathing hard.

She reached to him, felt his back curved and taut, and rubbed her hand over the soft ridges of his spine in a clumsy attempt at comfort. He stiffened under her attentions, before lying back down with his back to her without telling her to leave the bed. She considered returning to her corner but the faint threat of those awful memories seemed to cling to the place and she lowered her face to him.

"Doctor? Can I-"

He sighed softly and one arm reached back to pull a corner of the blanket over her leg. Taking this as consent she moved tentatively under the cover- relishing in the warmth whilst being vigilant to refrain from any contact between herself and the doctor.

She thought he was sleeping again and started slightly out of her own impending slumber as his voice reached her.

"Do you get nightmares? I can smell your fear."

She tensed, then realised he wasn't toying with her. His tone was as open as she had heard him yet.

"Yes- memories of…of things that have happened. I don't get them so much any more. I try to keep then in their place but…"

"Sometimes they break out?"

"Mmmm." She had never spoken to anyone about her nightmares- or her memories that fuelled them. It seemed wrong to be doing so now- as if she was doing something very private in a room full of strangers.

A long silence followed and she again thought him asleep.

"I get them too." He said softly. "Nightmares built on the worst moments of your life. Ensnaring you in to living in those moments again and again."

She nodded, not caring weather he could see her or not. It felt…good to have someone share her pain with- her fear and weakness. The fact this infamous, seemingly omnipotent man could have the same Achilles heel as her was…soothing somehow. Seemed to bestow a film of humanity on his wicked soul.

She reached to him then, as sleep began to cloak her mind, and placed her head close behind his, so she could hear the soft tide of his breathing and placed a hand tentatively on his waist feeling the soft beat of his heart.

As sleep claimed the woman behind him, Dr Lecter smiled softly, revelling in the strange feeling of human contact- real, meaningful contact in that slender hand on his waist. He may owe Mr James Warwick a nod of thanks for sending this woman- his ugly crime and uglier acts after the deed leading to the death of his patient had produced this one, beautiful entity. A balance of sorts was tipping up from the side of damage and towards that of rebuilding and regenerating. He saw a future for this woman for the first time- saw beyond his involvement with her to the possibility of a real life for her- away from this place. This was no place for her. It never had been. His mind began mulling over all the facts he had on her and her background as he fell into sleep, awaiting an answer to be formulated to remedy the new emotions released by this small epiphany.

As he slipped fully from consciousness, he saw a faint glimmer of hope for Gretchen Archer, as an astronomer observes a faint star in a distant galaxy.


End file.
